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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991831">Sleeping Beauty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki'>Redrikki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Lightning (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Lesbian Relationship, Coma, Episode Tag, F/F, Hospitalization</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:14:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grace had been in coma for over a month now, but Anissa still couldn’t help thinking each visit that this would be the one where she woke up. Maybe today it would be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grace Choi/Anissa Pierce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11, femslashficlets: folktale trope challenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sleeping Beauty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for femslashficlets' <a href="https://femslashficlets.dreamwidth.org/419465.html">folktale tropes</a> challenge "true love's kiss." Also doubles as my <a href="https://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/211156.html?thread=1533396#cmt1533396">hurt/comfort bingo</a> fill for "taking care of somebody."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The steady beeping of the heart monitor greeted Anissa as she stepped into Grace’s hospital room. Grace had been in coma for over a month now, but Anissa still couldn’t help thinking each visit that this would be the one where she woke up. They hadn’t been though, not yet anyway. At least Grace wasn’t on a ventilator. Her mother, every doctor Anissa had talked to, and her own medical training said that was a good thing. The prognosis was guardedly hopeful. Anissa was hopeful. Someday, Grace would wake up. Someday. Maybe today even.</p><p>“Hey, baby,” Anissa said, squeezing Grace’s hand. After a moment, Grace squeezed back. The first time that had happened, Anissa had called excitedly for a nurse, but she didn’t bother now. Involuntary movement in response to outside stimuli was common in coma patients. It was a good sign for her eventual recovery, but didn’t mean she was waking up. </p><p>The jury was still out on whether coma patients could hear their loved ones, but Anissa was going to keep talking and praying until she got her wife back. Thank god they’d gotten married before they went to face off with Gravedigger. As bad as this was, it would have been a complete nightmare without that little piece of paper that guaranteed her right to be here. Grace hadn’t been her wife long, but, in sickness or in health, when it came to her boo, Anissa was ride or die.</p><p>The nursing staff had been incredibly sympathetic. It was real tragic, they all agreed; the young bride beaten into a coma by the Markovians on her wedding night and her devoted wife. They might have changed their tune if they’d known the truth. The situation was 100 percent Gravedigger’s fault, but it was Anissa’s own hands which had put Grace in that hospital bed, not the Markovians. That mind controlling bastard had made them hurt each other. For that, she would gladly kill him if he hadn’t already died when the ASA blew the compound.</p><p>Anissa stroked Grace’s hair back from her forehead. The bruises from their fight had faded, but so had the rest of her. Her normally glossy black hair lay limp and dull. Her skin looked sallow against the crisp whiteness of the pillow.</p><p>“I noticed your lips were looking chapped last time I visited, so I brought you a little something,” Anissa said as she rooted through her purse for the chapstick. She applied it carefully. Grace’s lips twitched as she worked, and Anissa felt the usual brief stab of hope before she squashed it. </p><p>Anissa put the cap back on the lipgloss. “There,” she said, slipping it back into her purse. “Perfect.” She bent down and planted a gentle kiss on Grace’s freshly moisturized lips. </p><p>Grace’s eyelashes fluttered against Anissa’s cheek. The beeping of the heart monitor sped up. “‘Nissa,” Grace mumbled groggily, her voice raspy with disuse.</p><p>Anissa smiled as her eyes began to burn. “Hey, baby,” she whispered past the lump in her throat. “Welcome back.”</p>
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